


The Adventure of the Quiet Tenants

by OldShrewsburyian



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Animal Death, Background Case, Background Femslash, Book: A Study in Scarlet, Epistolary, Gen, Literary References & Allusions, London, Minor Canonical Character(s), POV Female Character, Some Humor, Some Plot, Story: A Scandal in Bohemia, Story: The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldShrewsburyian/pseuds/OldShrewsburyian
Summary: Mrs. Hudson lets her rooms, writes to a friend, and deals with unexpected developments.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson & John Watson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2019





	The Adventure of the Quiet Tenants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SCFrankles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/gifts).



221B Baker Street  
7 February, 1881

Dear Maudie,

You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve let my rooms at last. Doubtless it seems strange to you, having received so many of my unhappy letters when I first moved south, but I have become very fond of London, and I would have been sorry to have to leave it. I know your offer of finding me a place was perfectly sincere, but I have no desire to return to working as a cook, not even under you as housekeeper. And if you’ll forgive me for mentioning it, I still think that you’d do well to find a household that would better appreciate your talents. 

Well, that’s all the advice I’ll presume to give. I know you’ll scold me if I don’t tell you about the new tenants. They’re an odd sort of pair: two young men, and neither of them with enough flesh to his bones. You’ll be shaking your head over that remark, I know. But I can’t help taking note. I suggested half-board thrown in — I’d be glad of the bit of extra — and they coughed nervously for a full minute, trying not to let me see them looking at each other. The tall one pretended to be caught up in examining the fireplace at the time, but I noticed. The lame one started to say no (there’s a certain tone of voice, always, in that “It’s very kind of you…”) and the tall one cut across him with “Capital, Mrs. Hudson; you may come to me for the money.” Gentry, he is, I’ll be bound. But his coat is threadbare, for all his fine manners.

“Martha,” I can hear you saying, “you’ve begun in the middle as usual.” Well! The lame one is a Dr. Watson, on an Army pension, with the walking stick and the bad nerves to show for it. I’m not supposed to know about the nerves, I dare say, but he lies in till all hours. Sometimes he starts when I open the door, poor man. The tall one, Mr. Holmes — there’s a story there, and I don’t know the half of it. He’s brought a chemist’s shop with him, or perhaps I should say a laboratory. He ordered the workmen with the packing cases about till one of them muttered that he should take a hand, then — and as I’m an honest woman, he did! I wouldn’t have thought he had the strength. He told them the best pub for Kentish ale near King’s Cross when he gave them the tip, and they all parted like the best of friends. Men are very odd.

On the whole, though, they’re a quiet enough pair. They may keep odd hours, but they’re never drunk or rowdy. And I put my foot down about the dog; I won’t have other animals in the house. They’ve given him to that nice Mr. Stamford, so that’s all right. I hope they’ll settle in well; I’m glad to be done with the young men tramping all over the house, some of them not even wiping their boots. Sometimes Mr. Holmes plays the violin.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

P.S. Poor Wallace is still very weak, but I must make up my mind not to grieve too much. Twelve years is a great age for a terrier. 

221B Baker Street  
15 March, 1881

Dear Maudie,

A short letter this time, but I wanted you to know that everything was all right here. We have had a time of it! Scotland Yard in and out of the house, and an arrest on my hearthrug. I don’t mind telling you that I had a good dram of whisky when it was all over. And with poor Wallace, too! Everything does seem to come at once. It was a thing to tear at the heart, to hear his breathing so bad; but as you know, I hated knowing that I had to part with him. But Dr. Watson put an end to the creature’s suffering in the kindest way. My two gentlemen called me up to get him when all the fuss was over. His hair was still on Dr. Watson’s shirt front, and they’d given him a saucer of milk. Mr. Holmes helped me bury him the next morning. So I ought not to mind too terribly. Perhaps I will get a cat to help with the mice.

Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes did not have to testify, in the end, and my name and address weren’t linked to the paragraph in the paper, so that’s all right. And this may be the end of the uproar. Would it be shocking of me to say that I rather relished the excitement?

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

P.S. Mr. Holmes has hired the dirtiest lad I have ever seen as a kind of errand boy. I’m sure I don’t know how I end up surrounded by half-starved creatures. It’s not as though I advertise. One thing I will say for Wiggins (the errand boy): he didn’t take a bun until I offered. He did attempt to fit the whole thing into his mouth at once, but I’ve seen boys do that with far less excuse.

221B Baker Street  
18 June, 1881

Dear Maudie,

I confess that it’s at this time of year that I miss Scotland most. I miss the colors on the hills, and the full rivers, and the long days, too long for anyone to do work in, drawn out in colors so lovely that they seem painted. 

You’ll forgive me for not writing last month. I have started up a sort of agency of my own. It’s not official, of course. Mr. Holmes, as I’ve told you, is not official either. Which is to say that I won’t let anyone sniff at it. 

You’re quite justified in laughing at my early prediction that my gentlemen would be quiet. Quiet! In fairness, I must admit that they’re still never drunk or rowdy. And Mr. Holmes limits his chemical experiments to his own deal table, so alarming though they may be, they aren’t a danger to the furniture. But I was going to tell you about my agency. 

It all started when Mr. Holmes came down to fret about the doctor, though of course he wouldn’t admit it. (What he did was complain about the doctor’s beef tea not being hot, and _I_ said that I wouldn’t be blamed for Dr. Watson’s odd hours, and he shouldn’t be scolded for them either, poor man, and then Mr. Holmes dropped into my kitchen chair and actually apologized (!). Then he stood up again and asked to sit down. It was quite touching, really.) Well. Then he started in about a young woman who needed a job and couldn’t get a respectable one… something about the unscrupulous preying on innocents in bad shoe-leather. The end of it was that I told him to tell her to come round for a bit of a chat. You’ll be reproaching me for that, but I’ve never had your Aberdeen sense. And now, bless me if there aren’t a handful of young people (and some of them not so young) knocking at my door each month with a ‘Mr. Holmes said…’. That first young woman sent me a card last week; she’ll make a good pastry cook someday.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
25 October, 1881

Dear Maudie,

Would you believe it? we’ve all solved a mystery. I took up the tea things early, for that Inspector Lestrade looked like a man in need of a cup of tea. 

“For the love of Heaven, man,” Mr. Holmes was saying, “why would the Bradford Laundry of Upper Norwood be working in Kensal Green? It’s utter nonsense!”

Inspector Lestrade was acquiring that mulish look that some men do when they know themselves to be in the wrong, so I said that perhaps he might describe the boys working on the van. Mr. Holmes looked at me and sensibly forbore to speak while the policeman did just that. I stayed and poured out, to have the excuse to listen. Rules are rules, but opportunities are opportunities.

“They’re never laundry boys,” said I, and all three of them gawped at me like fish. (Well, Mr. Holmes didn’t allow his mouth to drop open. Picture a fish with a particularly skeptical expression.) “Too thin,” I explained patiently. “I’m sure I shouldn’t like to know what kind of business requires a boy to be that small, besides chimney sweeping, but it’s not laundry. Think of them hefting the baskets!”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Holmes, “the kind of business that requires boys to wriggle through grates and open window sashes.” Inspector Lestrade looked as though he wanted an excuse to be angry, so I said that I’d just fetch the scones. I hadn’t so much as started a batch, but gentlemen never do know how long such things take.

The thieves were arrested the next week. Dr. Watson still frets that Mr. Holmes doesn’t get his name in the papers, but I must say I’m on Mr. Holmes’ side: the work is its own reward.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
4 January, 1882

Dear Maudie,

Compliments of the new year! Thank you for putting us onto the Farintosh business. I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn in saying that the occasional client with an opal tiara is a welcome change for a household more accustomed to helping the destitute, the outcast, and the otherwise distressed. My agency is one thing, but I’ve often had to tell Mr. Holmes that good intentions don’t pay the rent. I confess, also, that I was glad to have Mr. Holmes occupied away from Baker Street for a few days. The long winter evenings have tended to become dangerous with chemical experiments.

I’m very glad that you’ve decided to look out for another position, and I’m sure I hope you find something more suitable soon. You know you’re always welcome here, should you want a listening ear and a place to stay.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
6 March, 1882

Dear Maudie,

We’ve had a Welsh poisoner, a disappearance, and two girls looking for decent positions in the last two months. You’d think that 221B Baker Street were the only address to which to apply. I hasten to add that the poisoner made no attempt here. That I find it necessary to specify such a thing tells you something of present conditions.

You will gather that I am something irritated at present. The upstairs agency is increasingly stable and prosperous, and my tenants appear to have taken this as a kind of permit for eccentricity. Well, I say tenants: but it is Mr. Holmes’ tobacco in a slipper, his cigars in the coal scuttle (!), and his knife in the mantelpiece. Yes, Maud, a knife.

I shall only write myself into a worse humor if I continue. I fear I am coming down with a cold in the head. At least the other tenant is useful in such situations, should it turn into anything worse.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
8 May, 1882

Dear Maudie,

I’m sorry to hear you haven’t found an improvement on your situation. We’ve moved into high life here at the agency, and I’m not sure I care for it. Mr. Holmes and the good doctor rushing about on trains, or fine ladies coming here looking at me as though I were a newspaperman in disguise. As if I were one to gossip! I don’t think Mr. Holmes and the doctor would still be here if I were. 

Still: they went out into Sussex recently, and brought home trout for supper. It promises to be a good summer. Mr. Holmes and I amicably concluded an arrangement regarding the spring cleaning. Extra payment (see above, on high life) and all papers to be dealt with beforehand. Dr. Watson had to enforce the terms, but I think we’re all the happier for it.

Do write soon, Maudie.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

P.S. You won’t do anything rash, will you? Don’t go building your castles in the air.

221B Baker Street  
8 May, 1882

Dear Maudie,

Of course I’m very glad to hear that you’re happy in your new position. But I would not feel that I had done my duty by you as a friend if I did not ask some questions! I cannot conceal my alarm at the fact that, after so long refusing to leave the place we both called home for so long, you have decided to depart for the Continent. Of course I cannot suspect you of doing anything really wrong. And of the two of us, I would always have acknowledged, cheerfully, that you were the more hard-headed.

I can just see you frowning at this letter, your eyes scanning it for the ‘but.’ Here it is: may you not have been misled, Maudie, by a pair of bright eyes? You know you’ve always been too susceptible when young ladies are handsome and well-spoken. For your happiness, even for your safety, Maudie, consider. I know that a musician may be just that, and no more, but what else may your new mistress _not_ be? You’ll say I’m too much of a worrier, and I’m sure you’re right. I’ve also seen a great deal of the wickedness of the world, this past year. I would hate to think of someone taking advantage of your loyalty.

I hope you will let me know where correspondence can reach you.

As ever, your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

P.S. Mr. Holmes came back this evening from a case in Whitechapel with blood on his knuckles and a kitten in his coat pocket. A more impossible man I have never known. To tease him (and also, I confess, by way of thanking him) I have named the kitten Boxer.

221B Baker Street  
10 November, 1885

Dear Maudie,

I was relieved to get your postcard from Vienna. I noticed that you hadn’t posted it from any of the hotels, and I fretted until Mr. Holmes quoted Keats at me (though I’m sure I’m not in the least like a knight-at-arms!) and I told him what the matter was. So when this catches up with you, you’ll just have to blame him for having told me to send the letter to the opera house.

We’ve had a busy time of it of late, and both gentlemen were quite low after a case in August. But then, that’s just when London’s heat is at its worst, too. And I can hardly suggest to two gentlemen in the mid-thirties that they ought to go down to the seaside and get sand between their toes for the good of their tempers!

Well, in any case, we’re back in London’s fogs now. Mr. Holmes is in high spirits — he says it’s an invitation to the criminal, and I’m sure he’s right — though the doctor still minds the cold. Boxer’s growing into a fine mouser, and I have been training him to leave his successes at the kitchen door, and not in less savory places. Dr. Watson says that he wishes Mr. Holmes were so amenable to training.

I’m glad to hear you’re well, Maudie, and I hope you continue so.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
27 February, 1886

Dear Maudie,

Prague looks beautiful — though also, if you’ll forgive my saying so, not quite real. Whatever put it into their heads to make all their towers like that, do you suppose? More like spun sugar than anything. You’re right, of course: it _is_ romantic.

Maudie, I must confess that I am in some anxiety. You’ll not thank me for it, I know. Before you crumple this in your hand: no, I am not going to say that you shouldn’t notice your employer’s bright eyes. I’m quite sure that she enjoys the tribute. It is the tributes of others that concern me. You speak as though a crown were a guarantee of character. It’s one thing to say that kind hearts are more than coronets, and it’s quite another to see a banker in your sitting room talking about how a public figure pawned a coronet to pay off a rather unsavory debt. Well, they don’t say _pawned_. Not when it’s a prince and a banker rather than an office worker and a shabby old man. And the banker wouldn’t have sold it on, of course, though he was afraid that his son would. But there, I’m rambling. 

The point I was trying to make, Maudie, is that you should be on your guard. And put your mistress on hers. Our household is kept in funds by the indiscretions of others. I’d hate to think of yours at the mercy of some unscrupulous fellow with a title — and no Sherlock Holmes to help you!

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

221B Baker Street  
4 April, 1888

My dear Maudie,

You could have knocked me over with a feather, you really could. And there: now you have the satisfaction of my having admitted it. I’m so glad you came to me when you were in London. And I’m glad that your Miss Adler — _your_ Miss Adler, lawyer or no lawyer, Maudie, you can’t fool me — is away safely. 

I looked over the doctor’s manuscript while I was doing the dusting. (Does Mr. Holmes notice that I do the dusting, I wonder? Perhaps it’s best if he doesn’t. We both politely pretend that my role in the household is that of landlady.) As I was saying: the manuscript is quite all right. To do them both credit, Miss Adler gets her due. Dr. Watson does not explain how she managed to change into a man’s tweed suit in time to follow them. But then, as I’ve told you, gentlemen never do seem to know how long women take about things. So how Miss Adler knew the address of 221B Baker Street remains officially explained and unexplained. It’s something Dr. Watson is rather good at.

I hope you’ll continue to write, Maudie. I don’t know what Miss Adler thinks of Mr. Holmes, but his sympathies are all with her. Indeed, he seems to rather relish having been defeated in a good cause. He rather agrees with you about her good looks, as well, though I can’t give myself the satisfaction of telling him that.

I got a card from that young woman I told you about the other day — the one in worn-out shoes. She is a pastry chef now. I hope that your own talents continue to be as happily occupied, Maudie. I think I may speak for the gentlemen (and Boxer, of course) when I say that your household has the well-wishes of both agencies and all inhabitants of 221B Baker Street.

Your affectionate friend,  
Martha Hudson

**Author's Note:**

> Graciously beta'd by [gaslightgallows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows). Holmes' knowledge of Keats is canonical (3GAB.) The timeline is generally so... omitting, as does Granada, Watson's marriage, and fitting in untold cases where convenient.


End file.
